


Swim

by chvotic



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Depressed Thomas, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Night Terrors, One Shot, Past Character Death, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Post-The Death Cure, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Minho, Sad, Sad!Thomas, Safe Haven, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Supportive Minho, The Death Cure Spoilers, Trauma, Triggers, self blame, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13559439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chvotic/pseuds/chvotic
Summary: He kept walking, right up to the edge and stood there. He looked down at the waves, large swells crashing up against the rocks aggressively at the bottom. If he jumped, he would land in the water and surely get thrown against the rocks. He could swim, he thinks, but he knew he'd be taken under within seconds. He'd survive the jump, but not the water.He moved closer, hand reaching for the pocket Newt's note was sticking out of. He managed to grab the frail paper, pulling it to his eye line and unfolded it. He read the words over and over, analysing Newt's handwriting, treasuring the last piece of Newt he had left.Kill me. If you've ever been my friend, kill me.He would never forgive himself.(title from chase atlantic)(sequel to a little death, can be read as stand alone)





	Swim

**Author's Note:**

> rated mature for triggering content
> 
> the death cure is still ruining my life so i decided to write a sequel to my other one shot, a little death
> 
> thomas's dream is highkey inspired by bellamy's hallucination scene in the 100 s1, which is a scene that always hit me in the feels and i felt it matched this one shot..
> 
> anyways, enjoy part 2
> 
> (TRIGGER WARNINGS)

Thomas was sitting on a log, staring into the fire, listening to the excited chatter around him. It had almost been a year since everything had happened with WICKED, and he still couldn't let himself recover. The nightmares had increased, he was still seeing the faces of everyone who had died for them to get here, he was still being tortured by those three words.

Brenda was next to him, laughing at something Minho had said. Thomas was having a particularly bad day, and he couldn't find the humour inside himself to laugh. He stared at the flames, the heat making his eyes tear as he listened to the crackles. He ran his hand through his hair, letting a long sigh leave his mouth as his mind moved at full speed, thoughts meshing and running over each other at a frantic pace.

He was barely thinking straight, his mind splotchy and full of different thoughts as he sat there. He wasn't listening to the voices around him, he had tried, but nothing was working out for him anymore. He thought that he would have recovered by now, and that he would be semi-okay and the longing for the people he had lost would slowly disappear. He knew that it would never be gone completely, but he was at least hoping for the feeling to lessen.

Instead, it had only gotten worse.

Thomas was dragged from his thoughts when someone clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to realise with horror that tears had begun to leak from his eyes without his knowledge. He looked up to the person who had now sat beside him, and he felt his panic lessen when his eyes met Minho's. Minho was watching him, a slightly worried glint in his eye as he did so. Thomas wiped his eyes, unsure why or when he had broken out.

"What's up?" He'd been asked, his friend watching him in worry. Thomas didn't know how to answer, since he didn't really know what was wrong with him in the first place, so he kept his mouth shut and shrugged his shoulders. He turned away from Minho's questioning gaze, turning his eyes to the fire and resume his stare. People were still laughing and talking around him, though Thomas still couldn't understand anything they were saying. "You look like you could use some sleep."

Thomas nodded to Minho's words. He was tired, he hadn't really been sleeping, but he didn't want to sleep. He knew only nightmares would greet him, and that he would see their faces again. He would relive that same dream, where Newt would be there and well, alive. It always ended with Thomas shooting him, and every time he woke up bawling his eyes out. Minho had heard him more than ten times over the last few months, and had come in to comfort him each time. But he and Minho both knew he dreamed more often than not, and sometimes Minho didn't hear him.

Thomas had jumped when a hand rested on his, and he slowly moved his eyes from the flames to meet Minho's. They were full of worry, sadness and love all at once, and Thomas was beginning to feel himself becoming overwhelmed. Maybe he should just sleep. He knew he needed it, but he didn't want to see Chuck's, Alby's, Newt and Teresa's faces.

"Is it about Newt?" Minho asked him next, and Thomas's breath hitched. Minho was half right, but it wasn't all about Newt.

Though, Thomas just nodded, once again breaking eye contact. At the mention of Newt, Thomas felt himself retreating into his shell as Minho squeezed his hand. They sat in tense silence for a few seconds, the two of them staring into the fire as Minho's hand rested on top of Thomas's, both their hands sitting on top of Thomas's knee. Thomas had caught Brenda's eye during the silence, and she offered a small and sad smile. Thomas returned it, letting the corners of his lips quirk up slightly while nodding his head once. He could feel himself breaking, his brain tearing itself apart as thoughts ran through his mind. Bad thoughts.

"I think I'm going to get some sleep." Thomas piped up, though he knew for a fact that he wouldn't be sleeping. His mind was running far too fast, he was far too awake. He was to afraid of what his dreams would bring.

Minho had smiled sadly at him, squeezing Thomas's hand one more time before letting go. Thomas forced himself to smile back, ignoring the welling tears as he stood. He glanced at Brenda, who was watching them, and sent her the same forced smile. He had to make them believe that he was doing okay, and that nothing was wrong.

Like those awful thoughts weren't running through his mind like clockwork.

He left the group, leaving Minho to sit alone. Thomas made his way to his tent, trying to ignore the thoughts as he laid down, not even bothering to change clothes or take off his shoes. He didn't feel like it was worth it.

He lay face first in his pillow, sighing as he forced his mind to slow and for sleep to take over him. It took a while, the sounds from outside being a distraction as he tried to force himself into a slumber. His neck was beginning to hurt from the awkward position, but he couldn't find the will to move. He couldn't find the will to do anything.

Finally, after what seemed and probably was hours, he fell alseep.

—————

When he woke up, he felt emotionless. He was in the same uncomfortable position he'd been in when he fell asleep, his neck aching horribly as he righted himself. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes tiredly as he remembered exactly what he had been dreaming about.

It had by far been the worst nightmare he'd had since they'd arrived at this safe haven. They had all been there. Chuck, Alby, Teresa and Newt. There were other faces, too, the Gladers. The Gladers that had died getting out, the Gladers Thomas never learnt the names of. He remembered looking around, trying to match faces to names, but got nothing.

They'd all been chanting that he was a murderer. He had been back in the Glade, in the Deadheads when he had been surrounded. Familiar faces, unfamiliar faces, but they were all faces of the dead. Chuck had the knife sticking out of his chest, Teresa had been on the ground, half of her body completely destroyed. Alby was the same. Newt's body had been jerking, hollow gargling noises exiting his chest as he stared at Thomas, the word mixed in between the gargling. The rest of the Gladers were all hurt in different ways, and he knew the majority had died within the Maze.

He'd woke up when Newt had said those three, painful words. The three words he was never going to be able to forget.

_Please, Tommy. Please._

He sat in his bed, thinking, his eyes free of tears. It was a surprise, that he wasn't screaming and crying like he had been every time beforehand. It was surprising he hadn't yelled for Minho, in the tent next to him, and that the Asian wasn't consoling him right this second. He felt nothing. He felt dead.

After a few more seconds of staring into nothing, he finally dragged himself out of bed. He changed his clothes, switching the small piece of paper between pants as he did so. Minho had given it back to him sometime during his emotional meltdown a few months back, the night where he had told Minho what exactly had happened to Newt.

Minho had taken some time after that, keeping rather to himself and not really talking to Thomas. It had been almost two weeks before Minho came back, during another one of Thomas's meltdowns, and hadn't left since then. Thomas was still waiting for Minho to beat him up for what he did. To tell him that he deserved to be dead instead of Newt. Newt who had kept them together, Newt who had been both of their best friend's. Newt who had always looked after everyone, put them before himself.

Thomas killed that person. Thomas murdered one of the people he cares the most about in this whole, tragic world. Thomas was the one who helped put them in the maze. Thomas should be the one infected, Newt should be the one whose immune. Thomas should be the one with the bullet in his head.

And then there was Chuck, Alby, Teresa and everyone else who had died because of him. He sighed, pulling his semi-clean shirt over his head as he tried to make the thoughts leave his mind so he could plaster a fake smile on his face. Another day of attempting to convince everyone that he was fine, and that he wasn't losing his mind.

His hands were shaking as he pulled on his jacket, his foot tapping rapidly against the ground as he did so. Though, he didn't feel sad, scared, or angry. He felt nothing.

All he could feel was the memories, lingering in the back of his mind like a parasite.

With a deep breath, he hauled himself out of his dark tent, wincing at the harsh sunlight as it hit his eyes. The chatter had picked up, and the smell of food instantly hit his nostrils. He wasn't hungry, though. He wasn't anything. Was he even a real person anymore?

He was dragged out of his unhealthy mindset by Brenda, who was smiling warmly at him. She was holding two cups of tea, one of them being offered to Thomas. He took it, barely smiling back, sipping at it slightly. He wasn't thirsty, either. But he wanted to please Brenda.

"Morning." She'd said, eyes warm and inviting. "You doing alright?"

Thomas nodded once, the movement stiff. "Fine."

He could tell she didn't believe him in the slightest, but she didn't push. He didn't even feel like he was grateful. He felt nothing. He felt empty. "You want something to eat?"

Thomas stared at her for a good few seconds, unsure what exactly to say. Instead of speaking, he shook his head, pushing his fisted hands into his jacket pockets. They were shaking again, and he didn't want Brenda or anyone else around the camp to see. Everyone had been watching him like a hawk since they had gotten here, and it's almost been a year.

It's almost been a year since he lost almost everyone he cared about.

"Alright. Minho's over there with Aris, if you need somebody to hang out with." She started, and Thomas smiled slightly. "I've gotta help Jorge with something today. Sorry, Thomas. Maybe tomorrow?" 

Tomorrow. Was he even going to be here tomorrow?

He nodded, his muscles tensing as that one thought ran through his head. Where had that come from?

But what had made him wonder was that he wasn't even scared by the thought. He was merely intrigued. He must've spaced out, because Brenda is standing closer and settling a hand on his forearm, shaking him. He snapped out of his daze, letting another small smile grace his face as he met Brenda's eyes. The mug was hot in his hands, burning, but he didn't care. He could barely feel it, anyways. He could barely feel anything.

"Are you sure you're doing okay?" Brenda asked him, her eyes big and questioning. Thomas knew his act wasn't keeping her convinced. "If you need to talk about anything, I can tell Jorge I can't make it. He'll understand."

"No." Thomas spoke, his voice emotionless. It was even weirder when he could sense it himself. "It's fine. I'm fine, go help Jorge. I'm doing fine."

Brenda didn't believe him. And when a hand came to rest on his cheek, her thumb grazing over his skin, he almost felt his facade crack. He almost spilled everything out to her just then, he almost let the tears well in his eyes. He had felt something, but he forced it away. He caught himself just before he broke, and he knew Brenda had seen it plain as day on his face. She was worried for him, but Thomas didn't feel bad. He was back to not feeling anything.

"Alright." She patted his cheek somewhat fondly, before moving his fringe out of his eyes. It was a friendly gesture, and Thomas knew that was all it was. "But if you ever need anything, come and talk to me. Minho's here, too. He'll listen."

Thomas nodded, pulling his hand up to hears and squeezing. For some reason, he felt like this was goodbye. But he'd be seeing her tonight, right? He'd be seeing her tomorrow.

"See you, Thomas." She said to him, before her hand fell from his cheek and she turned, walking away from him. He stood there for a few more seconds, the mug tight in his hands as he watched her retreating form. When she disappeared behind one of the tents, his eyes searched for Minho and Aris. His eyes found them, sitting on a log together, laughing along with Harriet and Sonya. He decided to make his way over there, setting the mug down on one of the tables as he dodged other people, who were greeting him. He had only smiled, though he knew it was definitely fake.

When he reached the others, he sat down on the free space next to Minho without a word. The other boy smiled at him, greeting him with a clap on the back. It wasn't too hard, which Thomas had been expecting from Minho, but today it was a lot softer. Why was today different?

"Hey Tomboy, feeling better?" Minho asked him after the other three had greeted Thomas and had returned to their own conversation. Thomas could see the way Minho was trying to mask his feelings, acting happy when he really wasn't. Was Thomas causing this?

Thomas shrugged. He sure as hell wasn't.

Maybe he should talk to Brenda. Maybe he should talk to Minho.

But he couldn't. He would be giving them the burden of his feelings, and it would only remind Minho of his dead best friend. Thomas was sure he had heard Minho sobbing a few nights after Thomas had told him, and he knew that Minho wasn't one hundred percent over it and never would be.

At least he was stronger than Thomas.

"Thomas? You in there?" Great. He'd spaced out again. "Hey, you alright man?"

Thomas snapped out of it, meeting his friend's eyes. He was expecting to feel regret, he was expecting to feel the need to vent everything out to Minho. But he felt nothing.

"Fine." Thomas stated, ignoring when his stomach rumbled. But he didn't feel hungry.

"Do you want to eat? I can go get you something." Minho asked him, and immediately Thomas shook his head. "Are you sure."

"Yes." 

Silence. Thomas stared out at the crashing waves, the blue water seeming rougher than usual. He looked up at the sky, only now just noticing the darker clouds in the distance. A storm was coming.

"Looks like there's a nasty one coming." Minho had obviously noticed Thomas's staring. "Won't be too long before it's here."

Thomas could see the lighting in the clouds. It wasn't far away. But he couldn't hear the rumble of the thunder just yet, and maybe the chatter and the crashing of the waves was covering it. The wind was gradually picking up, too, and Thomas felt a feeling so overwhelming he had stood up. He didn't know what it was, but he also felt the need to go for a walk.

"I'm..." Thomas stared, only just noticing that the four of them were staring up at him. They could see concern all of their eyes, and this made the feeling increase. "I'm going for a walk."

"When that's coming? I don't think that's a good idea." Harriet was telling him, but Thomas ignored her and her concern.

"I'm going for a walk." Thomas repeated, before leaving them.

He didn't know where he was going, but at the same time, he did. He entered the forest, ignoring the stares he was receiving as he disappeared, following the trail that had been cleared by some of the people he didn't know. He followed it, feeling as though his legs knew where he was going but his brain didn't. He was soon climbing up, the wind bending the trees over dangerously as it picked up. More than once he had jumped, turning back, hearing sounds behind him. When he saw nothing, he kept on going, now able to hear the rumble of the thunder. He knew he hadn't been gone long, and that the storm was moving fast. But he couldn't care less.

Before he knew it, he was at the top. He was on the cliff that was only sightly visible from camp, the waves crashing below him as the wind tore at his clothes. He could see Newt's letter, poking out of his pants vicariously, inches away from being taken away in the wind. The sky had grown dark, the storm was getting closer, and the thunder was getting louder.

He kept walking, right up to the edge and stood there. He looked down at the waves, large swells crashing up against the rocks aggressively at the bottom. If he jumped, he would land in the water and surely get thrown against the rocks. He could swim, he thinks, but he knew he'd be taken under within seconds. He'd survive the jump, but not the water.

He moved closer, hand reaching for the pocket Newt's note was sticking out of. He managed to grab the frail paper, pulling it to his eye line and unfolded it. He read the words over and over, analysing Newt's handwriting, treasuring the last piece of Newt he had left.

_Kill me. If you've ever been my friend, kill me._

He would never forgive himself.

"I'm so sorry." Thomas whispered, inching closer to the ledge with the note in hand. "I'm so sorry, Newt."

He almost wanted the silence to answer back to him. But he knew it wouldn't.

"I'm sorry, I love you..." Thomas trailed, never having said the words out loud before.

He was close. Maybe he would see Newt again? And Teresa, Chuck and Alby. Maybe he could be happy again?

Before he could take that one, fatal step, hands were grabbing him from behind and yanked him away from the cliff's edge. Thomas yelled in fright, and to his utter horror, the note ripped. He stop any action on fighting the person, letting himself get pulled back, eyes focused on the two pieces of Newt's letter in his hands.

The person behind him fell, or sat down, Thomas couldn't tell, bringing himself down too. He stared at the note, his last remainder of Newt destroyed in front of him.

He let go. 

The ripped pieces of paper flew into the wind, soon disappearing over the cliff's edge. Gone.

He had no time to dwell when he was turned around, the hands so aggressive Thomas had flinched. The person didn't seem to care, yanking Thomas around so he was pretty much straddling the stranger. Though, the person didn't own the title of stranger as his eyes met the horrified one's of Minho. Thomas had gone back to feeling nothing, his chest hollow as he stared into his friend's eyes. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, slinthead?" Minho gaped at him, utter horror written across his face. "You're a big piece of klunk, you know that Greenie?" Minho was saying, and Thomas could see the tears forming. Minho didn't mean what he was saying.

Thomas turned away, looking back to the cliff's edge. He made a move to get up, to go back and finish himself off, but before he could stand Minho seemed to know exactly what he was planning. Thomas was yanked back down, hands coming to his face and cupping his cheeks forcefully.

"Don't you even think about stepping off that cliff, Thomas." Minho had said, hands firm on Thomas's face. "You're not leaving me. You're not leaving us, not today."

"Newt.." Thomas trailed, ignoring the rising feeling in his gut. "I-I-"

"No. Newt wouldn't want you to do this. Newt would want you to be strong, to be brave, like you always have been. Newt wouldn't want you tearing yourself up day after day, night after shucking night." Minho lectured, and Thomas could see the first tear slide down Minho's cheek. "Chuck, Alby and Teresa wouldn't want that either."

"It's my fault." Thomas told Minho, not able to say anything else. "My fault."

"No. This is not your fault." Minho snapped, moving Thomas's head as if to enforce the fact.

When a particularly loud clap of thunder broke out above them, Thomas snapped. He felt himself release, all the emotions he had been holding off all at once exploding into a big ball of hysteria inside of his mind. He felt the tears instantly, welling up quicker than his brain could handle. His breathing had picked up, and his hands were shaking as he fully realised that Newt's note was gone, and that Newt was gone, and that everyone was gone.

He broke. A sob left him, tears beginning to stream as he let it all out. 

"Oh shuck." Minho had whispered, his face creasing with pain as he watched Thomas break. Thomas felt the hands leave his face, replaced with arms around his waist as Minho began to hug him. Another sob left him, his own arms moving around Minho's neck before he buried his face as though he were hiding from the outside world. He barely noticed the goosebumps rising on his skin from the harsh force of the wind, and he barely noticed the hand rubbing his back.

He was nothing.

He sobbed and sobbed, letting everything out, the loss of Newt's note fresh in his mind. 

"I'm sorry." Thomas felt himself cry out, not sure who he was apologising to. "I'm sorry."

He let himself be hugged, and before he knew it, the tears were stopping. He slumped down in Minho's arms, head buried in his friend's shoulder as he breath deeply, squeezing his own hands together behind Minho's neck in an attempt to make them stop shaking.

"We need to get back to camp. The storm's almost here, and it's going to be bad." Minho whispered over the wind, and Thomas managed to pull himself away. He stared at his friend, who had the remains of tears of his cheeks, and immediately he felt his own eyes well up once again. He was causing Minho pain.

"I'm sorry." Thomas replied, chewing his lip to prevent the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

"Don't ever do that again, please." Minho begged him, his face expressing how much Thomas had hurt him. Thomas felt his eyebrows furrow and his bottom lip began to quiver, trying to hold back the tears as he looked away from Minho. "You saved us, you got us out of the maze. You got us through the Scorch. You saved me. Now, I want you to save yourself."

"I couldn't save Chuck, or Alby, or Teresa. I couldn't save Newt." Was all Thomas could say, knowing that those four people were the only things going through his head. He couldn't help but feel that overwhelming feeling to get up and run off the edge of the cliff, to land in the water and drown. He couldn't shake it, and Minho must have seen it on his face.

"We're going back to camp, alright? We can shelter there, we can sleep." Minho said to him, gently shifting under Thomas to stand up. He pulled Thomas up with him, an arm keeping firmly wrapped around his waist. "It's alright, Thomas. It's going to be alright."

"I'm sorry." Thomas repeated himself, letting himself get guided by Minho.

"It's alright. You're alright." Minho replied, and just like that, they made it to camp right before the storm set in. 

But that night, as he laid with Minho pressed against his back, very much like the first horrible nightmare those few months ago, he knew the worst of the storm inside of him was passing. He wasn't okay, he sure as hell wasn't okay, but he knew that one day, he would be. His deceased friends would have wanted him to be happy, and he decided on that very night that he would do it for them.

He would do it for Minho and Brenda, too. He would do it for all of them.

One day. One day, Thomas would have the incredible weight lifted of his shoulders, and he would be able to remember Newt as his best friend, his best friend who had always held everyone together despite the circumstances. He was the one who had held Thomas together.

Thomas may have never gotten to find out if Newt had ever felt the same for him. But what he did know, is that he was somewhere nice, somewhere where there was no Flare and no Scorch, no Mazes or Grievers. He was out there somewhere, happy, and that's all Thomas ever wanted for Newt.

"Minho?" He'd asked that night, his voice shaky and broken. The storm had passed, the thunder just a distant rumble.

"Yeah?" Was his reply, his voice tired but concerned. 

"I want to get better. For Newt. For you." He had whispered, and he had been hoping that Minho hand't heard him. He was proven wrong when Minho squeezed him, the touch comforting.

"You will. It's going to be okay. You're going to be happy." Minho spoke in his ear, and Thomas could almost feel his smile. "It's what Newt would have wanted."

But Thomas knew that being happy wouldn't erase the longing for Newt, and it wouldn't fill the hollow feeling in his chest.

But he would overcome it. One day, he would.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this bc i had to vent about newt okay i've been suffering for too long  
> i also feel like this is really bad
> 
> hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading :)
> 
> part 3??


End file.
